


The Cake Competition

by maiden_aunt (SCFrankles)



Category: Dear Ladies
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Gen, Humor, Mild Innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/maiden_aunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hilda and Evadne are judging the annual church fete cake competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cake Competition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Challenge 135: Amnesty 22](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com/582837.html) at [Fan Flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com/) on LJ.
> 
> Thank you to [Small_Hobbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit) for for giving me some suggestions and getting me started on the story. 
> 
> Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. _Dear Ladies_ was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC.
> 
> * * *

“I really wish we hadn’t agreed to judge the cake competition again this year,” said Evadne.

They moved down the temporarily closed tea tent to the next competitor’s offering.

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket,” said Hilda. “It’s always the highlight of the fete. Everyone makes such an effort. Being named Cakemaker of the Year has more prestige than being crowned Rose Queen—and I would have said being a queen was more fun.”

Evadne sighed. “But it’s just the same old recipes every time. Nothing innovative, nothing outstanding.”

They paused by the next cake.

“This demonstrates my point exactly,” said Evadne. “Here we have Joan Shanks' upside down cake yet _again.”_

Hilda stared at it worriedly. “I think she might have made a slight alteration this year.”

“Oh, yes?” said Evadne.

“It’s upside down,” said Hilda.

Evadne rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s taste it and get it over with.”

She cut them each a sliver, and they popped them into their mouths and chewed thoughtfully. 

Hilda nodded. “Very nice.”

“Perfectly adequate, I suppose,” said Evadne. She looked around. “Is that it then? Should we make a decision?”

Hilda furrowed her brow at a plastic box at the far end of the table. “Wait a minute—I think there’s one last entry.” 

She led the way over, and lifted the lid off the box. “Good heavens...”

“Well, I say!” Evadne looked down into the box in delight. “Now, that is what I call a cake.”

“It is rather splendid I must admit,” said Hilda. “That icing is impeccable. And those little handmade sugar roses!”

“Seems a shame to cut into something that beautiful,” said Evadne.

“It is our duty though…” giggled Hilda.

Evadne gave her a girlish shrug and a cheeky smile, and cut two slices—both somewhat bigger than their usual slivers.

Evadne took a tentative taste and then sighed. She held up her hand, forefinger and thumb pressed together. “Perfection! Absolute perfection!”

Hilda tried her own piece. “Oh, the winner! No doubt about that!”

She started searching behind the cake box. “I can’t see the name of the baker…”

Evadne suddenly froze, a ghastly expression on her face. “Hilda, wait.”

Hilda looked up, and stared at Evadne in concern. “What is it? You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

Evadne gazed down at her piece of cake in horror and then looked up at Hilda again. “I think this competitor might be…” Her voice dropped. _“Cheating.”_

Hilda frowned. “How do you mean, dear?”

“Don’t you remember the vicar’s birthday party?” said Evadne. “He had a cake from Di Stefano’s specially made for him. Everyone raved about it.” She pointed at her slice of cake with her free hand. “A cake extraordinarily similar to this one!”

Hilda looked down at her own slice. “Oh, my goodness!” She looked up at Evadne. “You’re quite right! They’ve bought their entry! What on earth are we going to do?”

Evadne raised one eyebrow. “We are going to do the noble thing. We will not look for the name attached to this entry and we will not embarrass this person by exposing them.”

“No?” said Hilda.

“No,” said Evadne. “We shall quietly dispose of the evidence and say nothing about it. Hopefully they will get the message and not be so silly next year.”

“Right.” Hilda stared at the cake. “And when you say dispose of the evidence..?”

Evadne nodded solemnly. “Tuck in, dear.”

 

Both ladies were feeling somewhat queasy later as they watched the vicar move to the front of the crowded tea tent to announce the competition winners.

“Who do you think it was?” whispered Hilda, gazing around at all the hopeful faces waiting to hear the results.

Evadne held up a hand. “We agreed, dear. We were going to say no more about it.”

And she and Hilda turned to pay attention to the vicar, who had just begun to speak.

“Well, I won’t keep you in suspense,” he said cheerfully. “I know you’re all keen to find out who is Stackton’s Cakemaker of the Year!” He glanced at the piece of paper he was holding. “Third prize, with her signature square Swiss roll, goes to Mrs. Clifford!”

An elderly lady came forward to enthusiastic applause—Hilda and Evadne adding to it politely. 

The vicar smiled. “Mrs. Clifford wins a £2 Ahler’s voucher.” He handed it over and shook Mrs. Clifford’s hand. “Many congratulations!”

Mrs. Clifford beamed and then made her way back to the audience.

The vicar checked his notes again. “Second place is Mrs. Shanks with her upside down, upside down cake.”

Evadne rolled her eyes as she and Hilda applauded again.

“I thought it was rather good,” whispered Hilda. “The apples were delicious.”

“Yes, I suppose it was a very good year for fruit,” said Evadne. 

The vicar handed over another Ahler’s voucher. Mrs. Shanks thanked him and headed back into the throng.

“And now we come to the winner,” beamed the vicar. “And it is… Mr. Winterbourne with his cream horn!”

“Best of a average bunch in my opinion,” muttered Evadne, as Mr. Winterbourne made his way to the front and the applause became thunderous.

_“Evadne!”_ whispered Hilda. 

“We have something extra special as a prize for our winner.” The vicar smiled at Mr. Winterbourne. “A cake handmade by Mr. Di Stefano himself!”

There were oohs and aahs from the crowd.

Hilda and Evadne’s jaws dropped.

“Hilda,” said Evadne cautiously. “You don’t think…”

“I suppose it’s just a coincidence.” Hilda stared at the vicar and Mr. Winterbourne. “Please let it be a coincidence…”

The vicar was looking about, and he smiled as he spotted a rather familiar looking box. 

He lifted the lid and frowned.

Hilda and Evadne exchanged glances.

The vicar looked up. “I’m afraid the cake seems to have gone awol.” He smiled in bemusement at Mr. Winterbourne. “It seems we don’t have a prize for you after all.”

“Oh, Hilda!” whimpered Evadne. “What are we going to do?” 

Hilda patted her on the arm, straightened her shoulders and, with a determined expression, made her way towards the vicar.

“Donald! If I could just have a word…”

Evadne cringed as Hilda leant forwards to talk the vicar.

But he was smiling. “Excellent! Thank you so much!” He turned to the audience. “As the prize has gone missing, our esteemed judges have offered to buy another cake! And a slap up cream tea for four at Di Stefano’s as a bonus!”

The crowd applauded enthusiastically. Hilda looked out at Evadne, and Evadne gave a discreet—and relieved—thumbs up.

“Dame Hilda?”

Hilda turned to face Mr.Winterbourne. 

“That was so, so generous,” he said. “I wonder… would you and Doctor Hinge like to be two of my guests for the cream tea?”

“That’s very kind, dear.” Hilda smiled weakly. “But I think the Doctor and I have had enough of cakes for the moment.”


End file.
